


may the road rise to meet you (may we meet again)

by artoriusrex (jesusonaunicycle)



Series: bean-sidhe extras [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fae & Fairies, Grief/Mourning, Hopeful Ending, Letters, Letters to Sarah, Multi, Sad, Updates Periodically, Winifred POV
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-16
Updated: 2017-04-18
Packaged: 2018-10-19 10:32:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10638054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jesusonaunicycle/pseuds/artoriusrex
Summary: "He has us now, Sarah. You don’t have to worry about your baby being lonely."Winifred writes to Sarah about her babies, her world, and how much she is missed.





	1. April, 1933

**Author's Note:**

> Or, affectionately titled, "Dear Sarah." Based off of my series [bean-sidhe](http://archiveofourown.org/series/682220), it is suggested you read that series before you read this!!
> 
> I'll update this periodically, with the main series!! I just couldn't get this out of my head, and I was planning on writing the letters anyway, and just!! Here you guys go!
> 
>  **Warnings** : _emotional pain, mention of character death, brief mention of grief-related eating dysfunction, religious connotation_

**PROPERTY OF SMITHSONIAN INSTITUTION**

**LOGGED JANUARY 1946**

 

Dear Sarah,

 

It’s been a year now since you’ve died. My lad has just turned eighteen—your Steven turning fifteen in a few months—and the space from which you used to occupy is still glaringly empty. Steven is staying with me now, you’ll be happy to know. He officially sleeps in the room Nonie vacated. You know how she fought against sharing a room with Becca. There’s a cot and everything in there, with sheets—a real king’s suite. But he still steals away to share with our Jamie. I don’t think they’ll ever get out of that habit, Sarah, no matter how it kills me.

They’re all older now; Antanas and I, too. I found out I had gray growing at my temples. Antanas is nearly fully white-haired, now—it shocks me just to look at him. His work in the stockyards are still as deplorable as ever. At least we have money. At least babies still keep getting born into this world, even though it doesn’t seem good enough to live in anymore.

But the boys. I wrote this because of the boys. I can’t conspire with you anymore, Sarah—that’s what it was, I see it now. You and I, we conspired. We hid like schoolgirls and gossiped like old hags. That night, the night that Steven sent my lad so far up a wall he was spitting when he came home, the night you told me of _anamchara_ and the _sidhe._ You said to me, “we’re the bricky old dames.”

You should have told me you considered me a friend, you old bag. I would have willingly let you do the things you so desperately wanted to. I see that now, too.

I see you in my babies. I see you in Arthur’s stories—he writes them now, you know—I guess you could call them fantasy. I would have never guessed my dear Wart being full of whimsy, the broody boy, but you still seem to bring out the unexpected in all of us.

I see you in Charlie’s smile. A little quirk of a thing—the way you used to smile when you wouldn’t allow yourself to laugh; you need to laugh more, Sarah. Wherever you are. At least, for now, Charlie is doing enough of that for you.

I see you in Nonie’s eyes. Sharp, cold, assessing—you never let yourself off your guard, not even for one second. Nonie takes that from you. I see you in Rebecca’s scowl, her icy glare and cold shoulder coming directly from you. Both of my girls are strong and independent because of us, Sarah Rogers. We helped them grow into opinionated young ladies. Bricky old dames, indeed.

But most of all, dear Sarah, I see you in my James. He always loved you best.

He stands like you do, when he’s obstinate about something. Arms crossed, feet shoulder-width apart. He talks and laughs like me, Antanas says, but I see you in his dark humor, his pranks and secret smirks. He and Steven conspire like thieves, still just as mischievous as they were when they were four and eight. James will get this look in his eye every now and again, this gleam that clearly says, “I know more than you think I do.” You gave him that look, Sarah. Steven has it too.

It used to hurt me, you know. How you seemed to be a second mother to my son. My dearest boy, the closest child to me, if I’m honest. I tried with Nonie and Becca, but they ended up their father’s daughters—dutiful and strong. Charlie and Wart act like my brothers did, the two of them, respectfully, God rest their souls. James is more like me than any of my children, I’m not too blind to see it. But I’m also not too blind to see just how much of you has wormed its way into my baby boy.

Like I said, I was resentful. Now, I can see what  _good_ my baby has given your wee _bean-sidhe._ He’s given Steven a little piece of his mama—all of us have. We’re  _his_ now, and he’s  _ours_. I think that’s what you wanted, isn’t it? To give him a family when you were gone.

He has us now, Sarah. You don’t have to worry about your baby being lonely. He’s alright—he grieved for the better part of the year, if I’m honest with you, but he’s a lot better than he used to be. He’s even putting on weight!

He’s with our Jamie now, Sarah. Please, wherever you are, with Him in Heaven or with your old gods,  please don’t think that Steven is alone. He has us now. We aren’t letting go of him.

 

_Go mbuailimid le chéile arís_

Winifred


	2. March 1939

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1939, a week before Bucky's birthday, Winifred sits down to write about her family, her life, and the passage of time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:** _religious connotation, mention of discrimination, nosy mommies_

Dear Sarah,

 

I’m getting old. My children are all grown up now—my letters to you have talked about as much. Wart finally moved out on his own; my dear little writer, he works as often as he’s able, enough to pay rent, but he still has such big dreams.

Nonie’s first wee babe was born. Late, I might add. But, I suppose that’s just like her marriage: late, explosive, and full of wondrous opportunity. Her husband is a likable fellow, I suppose. I don’t know if I’ve mentioned it before, Sarah, but his name is Grant.

I thought you’d like to know that wee Steven’s tiny crush on my Iona apparently changed her for life. She didn’t even entertain another man until Grant. I’ll pretend it’s not because of the name.

But in any case, he’s a nice enough man. Headstrong, but not too stubborn—he dotes on Nonie, and he’ll spoil the child. Or, at least, that’s what I’m hoping. He’s neat around the edges, his collars are always crisp and his shirts are starched-white.

In all honesty, my dear Sarah, I think you would have absolutely loathed him. It makes me smile all the same, to think about you scowling your way through dinner, trying to terrify the poor lad. You would have done it too, you miserable old hag.

Charlie’s done and gotten himself married. A woman named Tamara, if you could believe it. Little Jewish lass from Manhattan. She’s about the size of my pinky finger, but her eyes are dark and from what I’ve heard, her mouth is about as mean and sharp as Steven’s. Charlie did not convert to Judaism (thank God, though you would never have heard that from my mouth), but he allows Tamara to practice and raise their baby with both religions in mind. I happen to agree with that decision.

Rebecca is still unattached, and refuses to entertain the thought of marriage. She’s working as a secretary in the news office, filing and pitching in her two cents. She doesn’t think I know, but I’ve seen her ink-stained hands—she writes columns for the newspaper, I feel it. She’s always been so opinionated. I can see her, reporting on injustices, sweeping the streets. They call them muckrakers, but God knows that we need it. Rebecca is just the person we need.

But I know what you’ve been really wanting to hear, Sarah. Jamie’s fine, too.

He’s twenty-six, this month. He’s gotten so big, Sarah. He works where he can—poor boy supports us when he can, what with Antanas getting laid off at the stockyard. We’re damn near penniless. But Jamie’s got us, helped support us, working at the docks, at the grocers—anywhere he can get work for more than two months. Rebecca helps when she can, and so does Charlie. Nonie’s too sick now, with the baby, and I make money enough, but it never hurts to have a helping hand. But now that he’s moved in with your Steven, it’s hard enough to pay for medical bills, rent, and food, _and_ help his ailing mother and father.

They moved into an apartment, Sarah, down in DUMBO. Damn fools. It was already a queer neighborhood, but now they’ve gone and moved to the most liberal part of town. It’s hard, trying to see them, but they come often enough. Steven’s looking sicker, but that’s just with the winter. The pneumonia hasn’t gotten him yet this year, but I know it will. He’s got that look about him. He always has that look about him, nowadays.

There’re whispers in the streets, frail little things, about us going to war. I don’t want that, Sarah. I don’t want my babies thrown into a world full of carnage, the life that we led during the Great War.I don’t want my Charlie or my Jamie to end up like your Joseph. God, I know how selfish that seems, how wrong it is for me to write it, but it’s true. I want my babies strong and healthy. I want my new grand-baby to have a father. I want to be _Mamó_ one day. But Steven, he’s so headstrong, turning twenty-one and so damn _hard-headed._ He wants justice for the world—justice for Tamara’s people, justice for his people, justice for the undermined and underrepresented. I see the fire growing every damn day, Sarah, and I see how my lad looks at yours.

Steven Grant Rogers would enlist in a heartbeat. My Jamie? My Jamie would wait until he was drafted, just so he could make sure Steve was alright.

I worry about them, you know. Steven’s still got eyes the size of the moon for our James, you know, but Jamie has been taking a little miss Dot for a whirl. They’ve been going on dates for about a year, now. Part of me is waiting for the wedding. Another part of me is worried about our Steve, and how he and Jamie have been dancing around each other since Steven knew what love was.

Isn’t that strange, Sarah. I’m calling Steven “our Steve.” I guess in these couple of years you’ve been gone, I’ve realized just how important Steven is. To my family, to my babies. To me.

He called me “ma” the other day, Sarah. He didn’t even notice, but I did. The moment he walked out I started to cry. I never wanted to be his mama, Sarah, I swear, but in that moment? In that tiny, impossible moment, I believed it. I _am_ his mama. I’ve _been_ his mama, same as you, since the day he was born.

I will never replace you, Sarah, and he certainly doesn’t consider me his mother. But I will protect him, love him, and care for him the way you would’ve wanted. I’ve been doing it for years.  ~~ I just wish you could see~~

I love him dearly, Sarah. I’ve been done wishing you were back. But God, I think you would be so damn proud of him. I know I am.

 

All my love

Winifred

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to Lily, who always encourages me to write and be true to myself.
> 
> Comments are love!!!
> 
> Irish used:  
>  **anamchara** \- soul friend  
>  **Go mbuailimid le chéile arís** \- until we meet again (quoted from an Irish prayer entitled "May the Road Rise to Meet You," something I imagine Winifred saying a lot, especially come war-time)
> 
> If you guys have any questions, comments, or concerns, please message me at my tumblr here: [x](http://capnsteeb.tumblr.com/) or leave a lil comment below!!!


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